Afghanistan or Iraq?
by Fan Gals
Summary: Oneshots featuring Sherlock and Fem!John's relationship. Non-slash Johnlock. T for safety, discontinued.
1. The Call

**Another fanfiction? I have too many ideas for my own good. Anyways, Phil the squirrel owns nothing! Enjoy!**

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Days like this reminded Sally why she hated the Freak so much.

It only took the man three minutes to solve the case that had taken them hours to come up with theories for. The Freak gave Anderson, who stood next to Sally by the window of the room, a smirk as he pointed out everything that the forensics team had missed.

"Did you even _think_ to check the medicine cabinet? The syringe and the poison should be right there, hidden among the other medications our poor Mr. Lewis took. He certainly took a lot of them, being diabetic and-"

Sherlock was cut off by the buzzing of a phone. With a groan, the Freak smoothly slid the device from his coat pocket.

Sally took the opportunity to glance over at DI Lestrade. The man was giving the Freak a disapproving frown. As much as he defended the man, Sally knew that Lestrade found him just as arrogant and rude as the rest of Scotland Yard did.

She turned to look back at the Freak, just in time to see him do something unexpected. As Sherlock glanced at the Caller ID, he turned even paler than normal and swept out of the room.

Exchanging glances with the DI and Anderson, Sally and the two walked over to the doorway to listen to Sherlock's conversation. The Freak had pressed the phone to his ear, "Yes?"

Hearing Sherlock's voice, and detecting a more interesting form of entertainment than their work, several of the other Yarders on the scene moved closer to the detective.

"This is he. Is John-" Sherlock was cut off by someone on the other line. The group of onlookers watched in shock as Sherlock's expression changed from one of fear and concern to horror. Three emotions from Sherlock in five minutes when they usually got one for several months? Something was up.

He listened a little longer and let out a strangled little whimpering sound. He looked like an injured puppy as he resumed the call.

"Yes, I understand. Thank you," Sherlock hung up on whomever had caused this emotional turmoil. To the shock of everyone else on the scene, Sherlock seemed to lose his strength and slumped against the brick wall behind him, muttering "John" as he slid to the ground.

He took a deep breath as he recovered his self control, stood up, and quietly punched another number into his mobile.

"Harry? It's Sherlock."

The man pulled the phone away from his ear as he was bombarded with enough yelling for everyone to hear. Despite the fact that the caller wasn't on speaker, the others could still make out what 'Harry' said perfectly.

"Sherlock! What did you do now? I haven't heard from you in months, so something must be up. Oh, no, is it John? John's dead. That's it isn't it? Oh, I'm a terrible sister!"

Sally recognized the tone as a 'you've made me mad, so you' better have a good reason for calling' tone. So, pretty much everyone's tone when they talked to Sherlock. Sally became slightly concerned as the voice went from being extremely angry to bordering on hysterical.

"Harry!" Sherlock shouted trying to regain control.

The voice on the other end silenced.

Sherlock took a breath, as if what he was about to say would hurt him terribly. "Yes, Harry, I've got some bad news. John's been shot."

Everyone had three things ringing in their heads at that point.

1) Who was this 'John'?

2) Why did Sherlock care so much?

And 3) 'John' got shot?

They were all too shocked and confused to really think about the questions that filled their heads.

"I'm going to see if Mycroft can help," Sherlock said softly. "I'll meet you outside the Diogenes Club. You too, bye."

No one spoke as Sherlock turned and rushed off to hail a cab. Sally thought she saw tears in his eyes as he rushed by her, but quickly dismissed the thought. Sherlock 'I have no emotions' Holmes didn't cry.

Did he?

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**Just so you know, I hope to update Reichenbach Misunderstandings sometime soon. Hopefully in the next few days. Please be patient with me. I doubt that I'll update Memories of Sherlock anytime soon though. Sorry!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Drugs Bust

**Hello my fantastic readers! You wanted more, so I have come to provide. To you, Nataly SkyPot, I say gracias for the review. I own nothing. Enjoy!**

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Lestrade gave a frustrated sigh as the dial tone rang through his mobile. Sherlock had run off with key evidence...again. And to make matters worse, he wasn't answering calls or texts.

He tucked his phone in his pocket and turned to leave his office. Anderson and Donovan watched from the doorway.

"Any luck?" Sally asked as the DI passed her. In response, Lestrade turned as he pulled on his coat and called out, "Drugs bust!"

* * *

When the impromptu drug's squad got to 221 Baker Street, they were greeted by Sherlock's landlady at the door.

The elderly woman gave a surprised smile and said, "Oh, Detective Inspector! Have you come to give Sherlock another case? I should warn you that he's a bit preoccupied at the moment."

As she spoke, Lestrade eased his way around the woman and headed towards the stairs. Sally, feeling some sympathy for Mrs. Hudson, patted her shoulder as she entered the building. "It's a drugs bust, Mrs. Hudson," Sally said as she moved to follow her superior up to 221B.

Mrs. Hudson stumbled against the wall, a trembling hand pressed to her chest. "Drugs bust?" she cried. "They're just for my hip! They're herbal soothers!"

Ignoring the distressed cries of the older woman, Lestrade came to a stop outside the door to Sherlock's flat.

He didn't bother knocking. In his five years of knowing Sherlock, Lestrade had come to the conclusion that knocking only resulted in a rude reply or no reply at all. He dramatically threw the door open and the officers rushed into the flat.

Lestrade began to call for Sherlock when he was cut off by someone shushing him.

Lestrade and the others turned to see Sherlock sitting on the couch. As they took in the scene, their jaws dropped. Lying on the couch, with her head in Sherlock's lap, was a petite woman with long dirty blonde hair that fell over her shoulder in a waterfall. She was asleep with her right shoulder facing them and an afghan was clutched to her chest in her clenched fists.

Sherlock glared at them and whispered furiously, "If you're going to stay, keep quiet. It took quite some time to get her to rest."

Everyone just stood there, shocked. Finally, Sally recovered and said, "What did you do, Freak? Kidnap her because you're so lonely?"

Sherlock's frown became more intense as he shushed her again. "I lack the need and desire to explain what is going on, but if you insist, I will. And if I do explain, it will strictly be to prevent you from waking her."

Sherlock nodded at the two chairs behind the Yarders, "The evidence is over there. The man you're looking for is the widow's brother. If you need further explanation, I will provide it later."

The detective looked down at the sleeping woman and surprised everyone even more by gently stroking her hair.

Anderson tactfully lowered his voice as he searched for answers, "Um, yes, first question: who is 'she'?"

Sherlock was unusually civil as he responded, "'She' is Dr. John Watson. She is also my girlfriend."

There was a three second pause before everyone let out a simultaneous, "WHAT?!"

John startled awake and let out a groan as she moved her arm. With a quick glare at the speechless Yarders, Sherlock gently helped ease the girl into a sitting position. She sat up and the afghan fell into her lap, exposing her left shoulder. Bandages were wrapped around her arm and across her chest, where they disappeared into her tank top.

The police officers were horrified. Red scar tissue and inflamed skin was visible along the edges of the bandages. The wound was huge!

She looked up at the intruders with a bewildered expression before turning to look at Sherlock, who still had his arm wrapped around her.

"Sherlock, what-"

"Nothing's wrong. Lestrade is simply picking up some evidence. They were just leaving," Sherlock gave them a pointed look.

"Oh, you're Lestrade! Sherlock told me about you. Here, let me-" John moved to stand, reaching for a previously unnoticed cane that leaned against the couch. Sherlock gently grabbed her right wrist and pulled her back down onto the couch.

"No, you are under orders not to exert yourself."

John huffed, "It's not that bad of an injury."

"No, you only suffered a shot to the shoulder," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Lestrade and his drug squad were torn between amusement, amazement, shock and horror. Anderson squeaked, "Shot? How did that happen?"

"I was a captain in Afghanistan," John explained patiently.

Sherlock nodded as he stood and shooed them out of the flat, "Yes, and it's about time you left and arrested your killer."

The Yarders left in a dazed shock.

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**I've been wanting to write this one for some time. Was it good? Should I continue? Thanks for reading, everyone!**


	3. A Study in Pink

**Another chapter for you guys! Just a request: when you review, could you please refrain from repetitively posting 'please update's? I love your enthusiasm, don't get me wrong, but asking me to update so much is quite pressuring. Please keep reviewing though. Here's a oneshot where they meet John during ASiP. I own nothing. Enjoy!**

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Sherlock got out of the cab and extended his hand to his companion. John slid out, taking Sherlock's hand and pressed her cane to the pavement. John had only been invalidated home a few days before and still wasn't used to the awkward balance when using her cane.

Sherlock hastily payed the cabbie and hurried to the door to 221 Baker Street.

"This is a prime location. Mrs. Hudson must be offering you a really good deal," John commented as her husband rang the bell.

"Well, she insisted on being a mother hen."

"And who are we to refuse?" John joked as she slid her arm around Sherlock's.

The door was opened by a kind-faced, older lady with short blonde hair. She was just how John had imagined Mrs. Hudson would look.

The woman opened her arms for the detective, "Sherlock!"

John felt her husband gently untangle his arm from hers and embrace the older woman. A smile lit up on her face as Sherlock turned and introduced her.

"Mrs. Hudson, this is my wife, Jonna Watson-Holmes."

"I go by John if you please," John smiled as the woman stood with a stunned expression for a moment. Mrs. Hudson opened her arms for the younger woman, "Oh, Sherlock! Why didn't you tell me you were married?"

Sherlock had a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "She was stationed in Afghanistan at the time."

Mrs. Hudson's mouth formed a perfect 'o' shape as she noticed John's cane. "You'd better come inside. I'll make you a cuppa, dear."

* * *

John sighed as she flopped down onto the couch. She didn't bother to take off her jacket and gently laid her cane on the table. Yes, this flat would do very nicely. "I checked your website."

Sherlock looked bemused, "And?"

"Still as unbelievable as ever," she responded with an affectionate shake of the head.

Sherlock chuckled as he turned away from his wife.

For several moments, neither of them said anything. They fell into a comfortable silence.

Sherlock was gazing out the window at the street when Mrs. Hudson came in. She cradled the newspaper in her arms, looking at the headline.

"What about these suicides then, Sherlock? Thought they'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same."

"Four," Sherlock contradicted.

John noticed the flashing lights emanating from the window and went to stand next to her husband, leaning heavily on her cane. She used two fingers to brush the curtain aside.

"There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."

"A fourth?" Mrs. Hudson gasped.

Simultaneously, John and Sherlock turned away from the window to see DI Lestrade burst through the door.

Sherlock skipped the formalities, "Where?"

Lestrade seemed too breathless and flustered to notice John, "Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."

John found it best to remain silent. She leaned her cane against the wall and leaned back against the window's cool glass. Sherlock pressed, "There has to be something new this time. You wouldn't be coming to me unless there was something different."

Lestrade nodded, finally beginning to catch his breath, "You know how they never leave notes?"

John saw where this was going. Her husband's eyes widened briefly before returning to how they were before. "I'll be there," he said cooly.

Lestrade nodded, "Good."

Sherlock clarified, "I'll follow behind. I'm not taking a police car."

Lestrade nodded yet again, "Thank you."

As he turned and left, John could already see the delight in her Sherlock's eyes. She wasn't surprised when he leapt into the air, triumphantly clenching his fists to his chest. She felt just as exhilarated as Sherlock at the thought of another crime scene to investigate.

"Yes! Oh, four serial suicides, and now a note?!" Sherlock grasped John's hands before releasing them and pacing the flat in excitement. John couldn't help but laugh at her husband's childish happiness.

"Oh, look at you, Sherlock. So excited! It's not decent," Mrs. Hudson teasingly scolded her tenant as she walked to the kitchen to prepare some tea.

Sherlock quickly grabbed his coat and scarf, rolling his eyes at the comment before turning to John.

"You're coming too, aren't you?" Sherlock said quietly. He looked so hopeful.

John broke into a large smile, "Or what? Stay at home and miss the chance at having another adventure? Of course I'll come, love!" She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and picked up her cane.

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**Should I continue this story? I was kind of rushing to finish this one.**

**Thank you for reading!**


	4. Scotland Yard Surprise

**I'm back!**

**Thanks to OnTheRun246 for the prompt. So, so sorry I couldn't write this sooner. I had way to much on my plate.**

**I also found jealous Sherlock surprisingly hard to write.**

**Hope it doesn't disappoint.**

**Without further ado, Jealous!lock.**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

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John loved surprising Sherlock.

Mostly because it didn't happen very often.

With Sherlock being, well, _Sherlock_, it was extremely difficult to surprise him. He almost always deduced and ruined the surprise before she could have the satisfaction of revealing it.

But today she was determined to give Sherlock a shock. After all, he thought she was still in Afghanistan. He had no idea she was on leave and had returned to London.

Upon discovering that her fiancé was not at their flat, she had gone to the most obvious next resort.

New Scotland Yard.

Upon asking for Sherlock, John hadn't been surprised by the harsh critiques of her fiancé. Thankfully, he was there, though he was talking to Lestrade at the moment. She was offered a seat and she took it, glad she didn't have to do anymore walking.

As she waited, a man who must've been in his thirties or forties exited the DI's office. She barely spared him a glance before turning back to her mystery novel.

But his attention had been captured, and he had walked over to where John was sitting.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" the man asked. John looked up, careful to hide her annoyance, and gave him smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"No, I don't think so. I'm just waiting for someone," John tried to make her words imply that the conversation was over and turn back to her book, but the man was quite persistent.

"And who would that be?"

"A detective," John answered vaguely.

"Maybe I can help you there. I'm Anderson by the way. Phillip Anderson," the man smiled in a way that he must've thought charming.

A woman with chocolate brown curls making coffee in the corner snarled at John, making her realize that the man flirting with her had been in a relationship recently.

_And I really couldn't care less. _John bit back the retort and settled for, "No, I really don't think you can help me."

"You never know," Anderson shrugged.

John smiled through clenched teeth, her mind racing, trying to pinpoint any way to escape the conversation.

_Come on, Sherlock. Hurry up!_

* * *

Sherlock was exceptionally glad when Anderson left the conversation. Lestrade had been oblivious enough without Anderson adding his stupidity to the mix.

As he finished up with the DI, his thoughts turned to John. _If only she were here. _She _would understand._

"Alright, you're good to go, Sherlock," Lestrade closed the case file and glanced up at the younger man with a weary smile. "Tell Mrs. Hudson I said 'hello'."

Sherlock nodded and walked out into the hallway. His gaze wandered lazily around the room until it settled on something he hadn't been expecting.

John sat by the door, her honey-blonde hair tied into a military style bun. She was dressed casually in civilian attire: plain flats, skinny jeans and one of those hideous oatmeal colored jumpers that John managed to look amazing in.

His good mood was soured by the sight of Anderson standing by her, openly flirting.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and walked towards the pair, noting John's slightly annoyed and politely interested expression. It was one she had mastered upon joining the military.

"You never know," Anderson shrugged as Sherlock approached. He was really going for it. Probably due to his recent falling out with Sally Donovan over whether or not he would finally divorce his wife.

"Anderson, please consider the fact that your wife is in town this week and the woman you're flirting with is not interested in you, engaged and waiting for me before you continue making a fool of yourself."

John's eyes lit up as her gaze landed on Sherlock, even as Anderson's expression became angry and flustered.

"Oh, Sherlock!" John beamed. She stood, stepped around a gaping Anderson, and walked up to Sherlock. She stood on her tiptoes and placed her hands on either side of his face, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips.

Sherlock smirked at his fiancé as she pulled away, "You're on leave?"

"I managed to get some time," she shrugged. "I wanted to surprise you."

"Consider me truly surprised, though I believe there are others in the building much more shocked than I," Sherlock remarked glancing at the officers watching them. Everyone from Anderson to Donovan was staring at the pair with varying emotions on their faces.

John chuckled, then intwined her fingers with Sherlock's, "Let's go home."

Sherlock nodded and allowed John to lead him out onto the street. The New Scotland Yard was silent until Lestrade yelled at Anderson across the room, "You owe me twenty quid!"

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**Thanks for reading!**


	5. Sweaters and Sniffles

**In this one, John gets sick while Sherlock's on a case.**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

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It was winter in London. Snow spiraled to the ground in little flurries and frost coated the windows of every flat.

And in 221B Baker Street, Jonna Watson-Holmes was battling a cold.

_Achoo!_

John pressed another tissue to her nose, the soft fabric irritating the sensetive red skin. She pulled the blanket around her more tightly and groaned. Why did Sherlock have to be out on a case?

And why did the heater have to be broken? The room felt like a freezer, and all John had on was a set of flannel pants and a pajama top. Even the crocheted blanket she had buried herself in hadn't helped much.

She was drawn away from her suffering by a knock at her door. John coughed before calling out hoarsely, "Come in!"

Mrs. Hudson peaked into the room, a thick bathrobe on over her nightgown and a tray sitting in her hands. It was piled high with tea, cough drops and sweets.

"Woo-hoo," Mrs. Hudson glanced down at her sympathetically as she entered the room. Setting the tray on the coffee table, she remarked, "Sherlock should be ashamed of himself, leaving you on your own in this condition. He's going to get an earful when he gets back."

John snickered at the thought, feeling slightly giddy, and reached for a cup of tea, "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

The elderly landlady sat next to her tenant, "Think nothing of it, dear. I just hope you feel better."

Mrs. Hudson patted John on the arm and walked out of the room. The young woman sighed, choking down another cough, and sipped her steaming cup of tea.

There was a sudden commotion downstairs. A door banged open, a draft sending cold air at John's shivering form. She bit back a groan as she heard Mrs. Hudson exclaim, "Oh, Sherlock! You horrible boy! John's sitting upstairs freezing to death and you run off - are you even listening to me?"

There was a pounding of someone running up the stairs and the door to the flat was thrown open. Sherlock stood in the doorway, his Belstaff covered in snow and his normally pale face flushed. John smiled up at him and waved dileriously, "Sherlock, you're back."

Rather than growl out an aggravated 'obviously' as he would've done for most people, Sherlock walked over to his wife setting a lumpy grocery bag on the ground and plopping down on the couch next to her. He wrapped an arm around her, not bothering with a greeting, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. John smiled sleepily and leaned into Sherlock's embrace.

She groaned when he pulled back and informed her, "You have a fever."

John glared at him, "I realized that."

Despite being Captain Jonna Watson-Holmes, she was slightly less intimidating when she sounded congested.

Sherlock pursed his lips and reached into the bag he had with him.

John felt her eyes closing as she muttered, "I thought you had a case."

"A ten trumps a five any day," Sherlock waved away her concern. He pulled out wool sweater, similar to the large ones she loved to wear.

"A ten?" John mumbled. Sherlock nodded as he pulled the blanket off her shoulders. The long-sleeved pajama top John wore was thin and ill equipped for keeping the wearer warm. He gently helped John put on the sweater.

"Did you already solve the case, this ten of yours?" John asked as her husband draped the blanket back over her shoulders. Sherlock smiled to himself, "I just did."

With that he wrapped an arm around John and pulled her into a warm hug. She snuggled into her husband's warm arms and almost missed his next words.

"You're worth more than any case, John."

Then she fell into a peaceful sleep.

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**Short and sweet.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	6. Friendly Coffee Date

**I'm back and still need prompts! I'm cool with writing anything you guys want. **

**Except smut. I don't do smut.**

**This chapter: Coffee. There's a lot of Molly/Sherlock friendship in this chapter and there will be a sequel if you want one.**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

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Molly was anxious. Bite-your-nails, glance-at-the-clock nervous. It wasn't everyday your best friend got leave from the army.

John and Molly went way back, all the way to primary school. The pair had been inseparable from the moment John beat up a boy in the year up for giving Molly the nickname 'Morbid Mousy Molly'.

And now she was finally coming home to get ready for her wedding.

Johnna Watson was going to marry Sherlock Holmes. And Molly was the Maid of Honor.

No pressure.

Molly thought long and hard about this during her shift, her excitement bubbling up in her stomach as she filled out autopsy after autopsy. All she wanted was to get back to her flat and get ready to meet up with John and Sherlock for coffee as soon as humanly possible.

That's when the doors to the morgue flew open and Sherlock sailed into the room, his eyes aimed directly at his phone and three Yarders at his heels. Molly let out a sigh. So much for timing. All she could do was hope they were going to finish up quickly.

* * *

Sherlock was impatient. He really wanted to just get everything done with this case (which had gone from intriguing to tedious at an insane rate) and get ready for his meeting with John and Molly over wedding details.

As much as he denied the claims the girls made regarding the enjoyment he took in the process, wedding planning was very relaxing to him.

He looked up as he entered the morgue to see Molly standing at the far side of the room, clipboard in hand.

How convenient.

She looked up at the sound of Sally and Anderson bickering with Lestrade and gave the newcomers a smile, "Oh, hello. Something I can help you with?"

"Bring out the body of Basil Sailor, will you? I'm on a time limit," Sherlock responded.

Molly nodded, "Right."

* * *

Lestrade sighed and dragged a hand down his face as Sherlock Poked and prodded at the body, deductions spilling from his mouth.

"And if you don't believe me," the man concluded. "You can check the autopsy. Not that it's necessary or anything."

Lestrade glared, "Yes, there's no point to it, but rules are rules."

Anderson took the clipboard with Basil's information on it and handed it to the DI. Everything appeared to be in order, but he had to be thorough.

As he studied the information given, Molly looked up at Sherlock from where she was putting away her thing for the day, "Are we still on for coffee?"

Sally choked on air and Anderson broke out in a fit of giggles. Lestrade took a moment to process what was said before looking up at staring at the oblivious pair. Was Sherlock Holmes seriously taking Mousy Molly out for coffee?

"Unless our plans have changed over the past few minutes," Sherlock gave a cool reply. Molly nodded, shouldering her bag, "Just checking."

Sally straightened and waved her hands in front of her face, which had scrunched up into a confused expression, "Wait, wait, wait. The Freak is taking the Mouse out for coffee?"

Molly let out a little squeak, her entire face turning red, and furiously shook her head.

Sherlock, on the other hand, gave Sally an unamused glare, "First of all, yes, Molly and I are going out for coffee. We are going as friends and meeting up with my fiancée. Second, it really shouldn't bother you anyway considering your relationship with Anderson."

The room fell into a momentary silence as another pathologist entered the room, prepared to take over the shift from Molly. Sherlock grabbed Molly's hand and dragged her outside the room, leaving three stunned Yarders and one very confused mortician.

* * *

Molly had actually been the one to introduce the pair. It was back when she had been crushing on Sherlock and New Scotland Yard had thrown a party.

Pane had somehow managed to get herself invited and was even allowed to bring a plus one.

Not wanting to face the humiliation of asking Sherlock or some other guy friend, Molly had begged John to come.

She had been terrified that Sherlock's bluntness would throw off John, but her friend had just kept trucking on, instead finding the skill amazing.

Realizing that her pursuit of Sherlock was leading to nowhere, Molly had arranged for the two to bump into each other on several occasions.

Her actions hadn't been in vain, and now she was very good friends with Sherlock as well as John.

At the moment she had asked about coffee, she had realized her slip up and tried to play it off as no big deal. When that hadn't worked and Sherlock had dragged her outside, Molly realized that trying to become Sherlock's friend rather than girlfriend was the best thing she ever did.

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**Yeah, so this chapter was a tad difficult to write. I'm still not 100% cool with it, but it'll have to do.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	7. Because of the Woman

**Thank you to OntheRun246 for the prompt. **

**In this chapter: Jealous!John, Meddling!Irene and Fem!John Johnlock relationship fluff.**

**Be warned. It's a long one.**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

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"You know, he's writing sad music!" John stepped into the small room, fully expecting to see Mycroft standing there waiting for her. "He doesn't eat, doesn't talk much."

She couldn't keep the concern and pain out of her voice. As much as she disliked Irene, she wasn't happy about the woman's death.

Or the affect it had on a certain flatmate of her's.

That didn't mean she was happy to see said woman standing across from her, right where she had expected Mycroft to be, a slightly smug expression on her face and her phone in hand.

"Wait, what? You're supposed to be dead," John choked.

Irene raised a delicately sculpted eyebrow, "Indeed." The tone she took wasn't mocking or playful; in fact it was rather resigned and accepting.

"How-?" John began, only to cut herself off. "You have to tell him." Anger bubbled up in her stomach. How dare she show her face now, to John of all people, after making Sherlock as upset as she had.

"He'd come after me," Irene countered. John felt her stomach churn, envy mixing with the anger, as she wondered if that was true.

"_I'll_ come after you if you don't," John ground out. "It was you lying on that slab." John held back a wince as she remembered how Sherlock had ID'd her.

"DNA analysis is only as good as the records you keep," Irene smirked at the young woman across from her.

"And of course you know what the record keeper likes," John gave Irene a sarcastic smile.

Irene nodded, "I needed to disappear."

"Tell him Irene," John felt her anger building up inside her chest. "Or I'll do it for you."

"How do I do that?" Irene asked, adopting a much more playful tone.

"Text him. You do that often enough."

"And what should I text, Johnna Watson?"

"I'd say the usual, but there isn't one with you," John rubbed her forhead tiredly.

Irene rolled her eyes and pulled up her texts. Turning her gaze from her phone to John she smiled impishly, "Would you like to hear some of them?"

John felt her confidence sink into her shoes, "No thanks."

Irene allowed the corner of her mouth to curve into a perfect condescending smile, "Are you jealous?"

"We aren't a couple," John said plainly. She left out the fact that she wished it were that way.

"Yes you are," Irene countered, not missing a beat.

John scowled at her shoes.

Irene noticed the change in atitude and gave John a glance filled with pity. She quickly typed out a text, pushing aside the emotion. Her smile was gone as she showed John the screen, "There. 'I'm not dead. Let's have dinner.'"

John felt her lip curl in disgust and jealousy, yet nodded her head, giving Irene leave to send the text. After a moment of silence, that sigh that had been the source of envious torture for John echoed around the empty shell of the dilapidated building they stood in.

Both women turned to face the direction it had come from. Retreating footsteps could be heard as Sherlock fled the scene, a new spring in his stride by the sound of it.

John moved to follow her flatmate, but was stopped by Irene's hand latching around her wrist. She looked at her companion, who shook her head.

And John felt her heart break.

* * *

It wasn't often that Sherlock was fooled. When it did happen, he had two separate reactions.

The first was to congratulate someone for managing to outwit him, and then sulk.

The second was anger, plain and simple.

In this case he experienced the second option. He was angry that he had been fooled by that woman, The Woman.

He rushed back to his flat as soon as his position had been compromised. It was only upon reaching his rarely used room that he remembered the pain that had been present on John's face upon the discovery of his whereabouts.

That was when he realized the flat had been compromised.

* * *

John was in no rush to arrive home and face Sherlock! but when she finally got there, she was surprised to see the door ajar and a little note attached to the knocker.

_CRIME IN PROGRESS_

_PLEASE DISTURB_

She rushed into the flat and was shocked to find Sherlock with a phone pressed to his ear and a gun pointed at a man who sat bound to a chair. Mrs. Hudson sat sniffling on their couch.

"What the-?" John rushed over to Mrs. Hudson. "What happened?"

"An American attacked Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock stated. "I'm simply restoring balance to the universe."

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson," John sat next to the eldery lady and wrapped an arm around her. "Are you alright?" She examined the cut on the woman's cheek and turned to glare at the man who sat tied up by the fireplace, "Gosh, what have they done to you?"

The motherly figure broke down in tears, pressing her palms to her face. John pulled her closer as Mrs. Hudson sobbed, "I'm being so silly!"

"Oh, no. No, of course you aren't," John rubbed her hand along Mrs. Hudson's arm.

"Take her downstairs," Sherlock quietly instructed.

John nodded and helped the shaky Mrs. Hudson to her feet, "Come on. I've got you now. You've got nothing to worry about."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Mrs. Hudson insisted as she walked towards the stairs. Before she followed after, John stepped up to Sherlock, "Don't go easy on him."

She escorted Mrs. Hudson downstairs, vaguely hearing Sherlock telling Lestrade that the burglar had gotten himself injured. He then proceeded to list injuries that John knew for a fact hadn't been injured by the intruder.

* * *

"This'll sting a bit," John quietly informed her landlady. She dabbed the antiseptic against the cut on Mrs. Hudson's cheek.

There was a sudden crash and a cry of terror as a shape flew past the window, causing both woman to jump. The shadow collided with the ground and Mrs. Hudson gave a little gasp, "Ooh, that was right on my bins!"

John bit back a smile and continued to dab at Mrs. Hudson's cheek. The same process repeated, with Mrs. Hudson's assailant being dropped onto the ground and taken back to John and Sherlock's flat to be thrown once more out the window.

Even when the police arrived, John remained in the kitchen with Mrs. Hudson. When Sherlock entered the kitchen after passing the intruder over to Lestrade, John sternly told him, "She's staying with upstairs with us tonight. We need to look after her."

"No," Mrs. Hudson protested.

"She's fine John," Sherlock replied, dismissing John's requests with a wave of his hand.

"No, she isn't," John insisted. "She's got to take some time away from Baker Street, then. She can stay with her sister. Doctor's orders."

"John, don't be absurd," Sherlock snapped.

"Sherlock, she's in shock. All for a stupid camera phone as well. Where did it go anyway?" John looked over at her flatmate.

Sherlock gave her an odd look she couldn't decipher and held out his hand towards Mrs. Hudson. The landlady withdrew the phone from inside her top and handed it to him, "It was in your second-best dressing gown, you clot."

She let out a laugh, "I managed to smuggle it out when they thought I was having a cry."

Sherlock gave the landlady's shoulder a squeeze and tossed the phone in the air before catching it, "Thank you."

John rolled her eyes.

"Shame on you, John Watson," Sherlock berated his flatmate.

John's jaw dropped, "Shame on me?!"

"Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street? England would fall," Sherlock declared as he wrapped an arm around Mrs. Hudson's shoulders.

"Oh, alright," John said, shaking her head at the stubborn pair. "But she stays with us tonight. She can take your room, Sherlock. It's not like you use it or anything."

"I really am fine," Mrs. Hudson insisted. "I'll be fine, John dear. I don't need anyone to watch over me."

"Well, I do," John crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not going to rest easy unless I know we're close enough to protect you."

Mrs. Hudson looked hesitant, but nodded, "If you insist, dear."

* * *

Once Mrs. Hudson had settled down in Sherlock's room for the night, John fixed some tea for her and Sherlock, who sat in his chair with his fingers steepled under his chin.

He merely grunted when she placed the cup on the side table.

She sat in the chair across from him and the pair sat in a comfortable silence for a moment. That was when John spoke up, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Mm," Sherlock hummed.

"I mean, uh, Irene's return from the dead?"

"A small oversight on my part, I will admit, but it doesn't affect us," Sherlock remarked flippantly.

"Ah," John looked down into the steaming tea. "I thought, maybe, since you were acting down before she showed up that you might've been, I dunno, sad about her death?"

Sherlock looked up at John, "I always act, as you so eloquently put it, 'down'."

John felt herself flush, "I don't know. You just seemed different after that case."

There was a pause, then, "Are you jealous, John?"

"What? No," John scoffed. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her and she sighed, "Okay, yes."

There was another moment of silence.

"Why did you tell The Woman that we weren't a couple?"

John choked on her tea and looked up at Sherlock. His expression was one of pure curiosity, like that of a young child.

"Because, to my knowledge, we aren't. Why do you ask?" John barely managed to stop the warmth from climbing further up her neck.

Sherlock hummed and settled his chin on his fingers, lost in thought. With a sudden burst of courage, John asked, "Sherlock, do _you _think we're in a relationship?"

"Aren't we?" Sherlock replied a bit too quickly.

John set down her cup down and rubbed her hands over her face. A little warm tingling sensation began to awaken in her stomach as she detected the hopefulness in his tone.

"Sherlock, you need to realize that not everyone can pick up on things as easily as you. If we were to start a relationship, you would have to tell me that you're interested in starting one."

"Alright," Sherlock nodded. "I can do that."

John smiled half heartedly at him, fully expecting him to fall into one of his long silences. What he did next truly shocked her.

Sherlock stood and walked over to his flatmate, standing in front of her, "Would you like to start a relationship with me, John?"

John looked up at Sherlock, her cheeks turning crimson. "W-what?!"

"You do know how I loath to repeat myself John," Sherlock smirked.

"Um, well, that is," John stammered. She looked up at Sherlock's face, his features painted with anticipation.

"Yes, Sherlock," John finally said. "I would like to start a relationship with you."

Sherlock grinned, "Excellent."

* * *

**Sorry if it wasn't that good. I had difficulty writing this chapter.**

**Thanks for reading!**


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